


The Scars Inside

by Nixxi



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Explicit Language, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, M/M, Post-Altissia (Final Fantasy XV), Pre-Slash, Verbal Abuse, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24533056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixxi/pseuds/Nixxi
Summary: “Hey, buddy.” A hand grabs his arm roughly, fingers digging into the meat of his bicep. “I’m talking to you.”Startled, Ignis doesn’t at first know how to respond. He’s never been accosted like this before, especially not in public. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, before opening it again to say, “Me?”“You can’t just walk around looking like that.”Looking like…what?A man harasses Ignis about his appearance after the battle of Altissia. Gladio sets him straight. REPOST.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 17
Kudos: 118





	The Scars Inside

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this in early 2017. It has been revised to align with Episode Ignis. Thank you for reading! Stay safe out there! ♡

“Excuse me.”

The voice, coloured with hostility, comes from somewhere to Ignis’s left. It belongs to a man. Without his eyes, that’s about all Ignis can deduce about him, so he doesn’t acknowledge the voice—not because he’s trying to be rude, but because they’re in Altissia and he doesn’t know anyone here, much less anyone who would speak to him in such a tone. Especially not in the corner store around the block from their hotel, where he’s minding his own business while Gladio buys medication for Noct. 

He just assumes the voice is addressing someone else. 

He continues to stand where Gladio left him, trailing the fingers of his right hand over the potatoes on the table next to him. At least he thinks they’re potatoes. In his blindness, he has to reconstruct the physical world using touch alone. There’s so much room for ambiguity, for error. 

“Hey, buddy.” A hand grabs his arm roughly, fingers digging into the meat of his bicep. “I’m talking to you.”

Startled, Ignis doesn’t at first know how to respond. He’s never been accosted like this before, especially not in public. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, before opening it again to say, “Me?”

“You can’t just walk around looking like that.”

_Looking like…what?_

He swallows hard, his tongue feeling altogether too large for his mouth as he says, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Cut the bullshit. You know what I mean. Your scars.” The man releases his arm. “They’re disgusting.”

Disgusting? Instinctively, Ignis raises a hand and runs it over the bubbling scab on his cheekbone. He knows it’s bad. He knew it was bad the moment he opened his eyes and saw only darkness, when he felt only blistering pain on the left side of his face. He knew it when Gladio’s voice broke as he explained to Ignis the severity of his injuries.

He knew it was bad, but not so bad as to be disgusting.

“You’re scaring people,” the man goes on. “No one wants to look at that. You need to wear an eyepatch or—”

“Hey!” Gladio’s voice, very close, although it’s dampened by the ringing in Ignis's ears. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!”

“Yeah? I doubt anyone here is that much of an asshole.”

“Come on, man, have you gotten a good look at him? He looks like a freak!”

There comes the meaty smack of a fist hitting a face, a chorus of horrified cries, a crash, the sound of jars smashing onto tiled floor. 

Normally, Ignis would intervene. But now he’s hardly listening. He staggers from the corner store, pain blooming in his shoulder as it meets the doorframe on the way out. Clasping it with one hand, he walks through the wreckage of Altissia. He doesn’t know where he’s going. He doesn’t know if people are staring at him. For all he knows, he could be at the edge of the sidewalk. One false step could take him right into the canal.

_You’re scaring people._

_No one wants to look at that._

_He looks like a freak._

His foot catches on a piece of rubble and he stumbles. He throws his hands out, fully expecting to face plant right there in the street, sprawled on the cobblestones as everyone around him gawks at his monstrous face. Wouldn’t that be a fitting end to this afternoon’s outing? But someone catches him before he can fall. From the warm scent of leather that envelops him, he knows it’s Gladio.

“Easy, there,” Gladio murmurs, straightening him up and putting a hand on the small of his back. “You can’t just run off on me like that. There’s a bench over here. Let’s take a breather for a second.”

Gladio walks him up onto the sidewalk and they sit together, their thighs touching. Ignis realizes, with a start, that Gladio hasn’t withdrawn his arm from around his shoulders. Gladio has never comforted him like this before, has never touched him beyond a guiding hand on his back. 

He finds he doesn’t mind it.

“You okay?” Gladio asks.

“I’m fine,” Ignis says. “I just didn’t know…” He swallows, the insults echoing again in his head. There’s no reason he should be getting so worked up about this. He’s always taken care with his appearance, but he isn’t vain. The scars are just the price for Noct’s life, and he would gladly pay it again. “I didn’t realize my face is frightening to others.”

“Don’t tell me you’re taking that dickhead seriously.”

“Was he wrong?”

“Are you kidding me?” Gladio says, his voice heated. “It’s just a scar, Iggy. I’ve got ‘em too.”

Ignis shakes his head. “Not like mine.”

“Listen to me.” Gladio’s hand slips down to grasp his arm, gentle but firm, turning him so they’re facing each other. At least Ignis thinks they’re facing each other. He can’t say for sure. “Those scars on your face are there because you risked your life to help other people. What was that asshole doing when the Niffs attacked? Probably hiding under his bed.”

“Gladio…”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Ignis bites his lip. “Perhaps I should get an eyepatch.”

“Why would you do that?”

“He said no one wants to look at me.”

Gladio growls in frustration. “Do you think my scars make me ugly?”

“No, but—”

“The rest of us still like your face, Ignis.” Gladio’s hand squeezes his arm, as if he’s trying to convey the sincerity of his words. And so they must be. Gladio only ever uses Ignis’s full name when he’s being perfectly serious. “Scars and all.”

“I don’t want to make people uncomfortable, Gladio.”

Gladio’s hand falls away. “Why? It’s their problem, not yours.”

“All the same, Gladio, it’s only courteous…”

“C’mon, Iggy, you never cared what people thought before.” 

For that, Ignis has no answer. Perhaps the stress of the past week and a half has taken its toll on him. Perhaps he cares more about his appearance than he thought. Whatever the case, he feels more vulnerable now than he has in a long while. He hangs his head, letting out a sigh.

“Ignis.” Gladio’s hand cups his face, tilting it up. Soft lips press against the ruins of his eye, just at the edge of the socket, where the scarring is the most severe. They move to the cut on his nose, then to the one on his right eyebrow. There’s a pause. Ignis finds himself aching for Gladio to kiss his mouth, where the last scar lies. He tilts his face up a little further in invitation. 

And then Gladio’s lips brush over his own, cautious and feather-light, before leather creaks and Gladio’s body heat moves away. It’s over so soon that he might have imagined it. But he isn’t imagining his body’s reaction—the way his heart pounds, the way his mouth goes dry, the way his skin prickles with the need for more.

“You’re still a babe,” Gladio murmurs, releasing Ignis’s chin. "Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.”

Ignis lets out the breath he was holding, his cheeks flushing with heat. “I can certainly try,” he says faintly.

“Guess that’s better than nothing.” Ignis can hear the smile in his voice. He lets Gladio take him by the arm and raise him from the bench, his hand returning to its usual place in the small of Ignis’s back. “Now, c’mon. Let’s get back to the hotel. Noct’s waiting.”


End file.
